


That Doesn't Mean I'm Not Gonna' Try

by ObjectPermanence



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Pining-jolras!, Sex is a Possibility, So Sweet It'll Rot Your Teeth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:39:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObjectPermanence/pseuds/ObjectPermanence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras isn't sure how he went from despising Grantaire to harboring what could be considered more than platonic feelings towards him. Its a slow build, not a 'flash-bam I love you' sort of moment. But by some strange twist of fate he's standing outside Grantaire's house, throwing pebbles at his windows at 1am on a Thursday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Doesn't Mean I'm Not Gonna' Try

Enjolras is a logical person. He knows that the life he lives requires a certain level of detachment and that never bothered him before. It was easy to focus on the cause, helping other people before himself was in his nature. There was nothing more important to the young revolutionary that politics, or so he thought.

He first noticed the shift on a wholly unremarkable winter afternoon. Enjolras had been hunched over some pamphlets, trying to correct the grammatical errors that seemed to only bother him and went unnoticed by the other Amis. Grantaire had stumbled in, slamming the door shut behind him with a loud bang. The drunk had chuckled and put a finger to his lips, shushing the door with a crooked smile. He had on a baggy green sweatshirt with sleeves that hung just below the tips of his fingers, and a pair of what Enjolras believes could possibly be the tightest pants known to man. A dark gray backpack was slung over one of his shoulders. Little snowflakes were powdered throughout his hair, stark white against the boy's black curls. Fisted in his right hand was a bottle with a green tint, filled with what could only be some sort of alcohol.

"You're late." Combeferre had grunted, not looking up from his textbook as the cynical young man dropped into the seat next to Enjolras.

He hummed an affirmative, "Shhh, don't tell." Grantaire took a swig from his bottle and tapped his had idly on the counter. "It appears that the great Apollo has yet to notice, being to enraptured with Patria to cast his eyes upon a lowly drunk such as myself!" He laughed, slung his backpack over the back of his chair, and removed a sketchbook and some charcoal pencils.

"I did, infact notice your tardiness." Enjolras tore his gaze from the cynic's impossibly tight pants and tried to focus on the pamphlets, but couldn't remove the image of the other man's pants from his mind. "I just choose not to comment."

Grantaire tapped the side of his nose and let out a snort, "That’s a very insensitive term, Enjolras. As a leading figure in tolerance and acceptance I assumed that you would be aware that 'tardiness' is now considered very offensive to disabled individuals, such as yourself."

Enjolras shook his head, blond curls bouncing slightly. "And in what way am I disabled?"

"You, mighty Apollo, suffer from a very serious case of Stick Up The Ass." The cynic mocked pushing glasses further up his nose and folded his hands on the table in front of him. "And sadly the only cure is to have another object, such as my dick, inserted into your ass." The drunk slurred, beginning to scribble furiously with some charcoal on a page in his sketchbook.

The blonde turned back to his work and began to type again, "I am not aware of any medical validity to your accusations," he muttered in annoyance. For the rest of the meeting Enjolras found his thoughts drifting back to the way the snow had stood out against the cynic's hair, his long eyelashes that danced every time he blinked while sketching, and those damn tight pants. For the remainder of the meeting Enjolras had difficulty staying focused and felt like something was slightly different between him and the resident cynic. Grantaire had a way of getting under his skin and staying there, and he was pretty sure that hatred was what he was feeling, but there was also a strange fluttering in his stomach that didn't leave until well after the drunk had stumbled off after the meeting ended.

-ooo-

The second time it happened Grantaire had forgotten his backpack in his usual seat when he raced out with Bahorel and Feuilly to a bar down the street. Enjolras sat down and sighed, running a hand over his face. "He forgot his bag."

"Then get it back to him." Combeferre suggested, turning a page in his novel.

Enjolras hoisted the bag onto the table and zipped it up with a single fluid movement. "I'm going to drop it off at his house. I'll be back in a little bit." The blonde slung the dark gray bag onto his shoulder and walked past the table occupied by Courfeyrac and Jehan, towards the door. The months were beginning to get even colder as Enjolras trudged down the sidewalk, his red converse offering little protection from the snow on the ground.

A cold gust of wind buffeted against the blonde when he reached the door to Grantaire's apartment. The winter air was freezing, and Enjolras had no idea how valuable the backpack was to Grantaire. After a moment of deliberation he came to the conclusion that picking the lock and letting himself into the cynic's apartment to leave the bag on his couch was the best idea.

A few minutes and some elbow grease later Enjolras was standing inside Grantaire's tiny excuse of an apartment. There was a tiny couch that faced an ancient looking TV, antennas and all. An easel with a blank canvas stood in the corner, surrounded by different sized paintings, each with similar swooping red, gold, and black lines that made up the face of a young man. Every surface was cluttered with empty cans and bottles, but other than that the apartment was relativity tidy.

Enjolras frowned and dropped Grantaire's backpack onto the tiny brown couch and wandered over to the paintings. Upon closer inspection it became apparent that each one depicted the same individual over and over, from different angles. The young man had strikingly blonde hair and a strong jaw. He was dressed in what appeared to be a red waistcoat and in some he was brandishing a musket complete with a bayonet, or a flag the color of blood.

He'd know that Grantaire was an art student, but Enjolras never expected Grantaire to actually be that good. His paintings were even better than the few sketches and drawings Grantaire had allowed the blonde revolutionary to see. The cynic was usually very protective of his art, and Enjolras knew he must have been crossing some sort of line by going thought the man's paintings that depicted his apparent muse.

His hypothesis was confirmed when the front door opened with a bang. Turning around Enjolras was met with the sight of a very drunk Grantaire staring wide eyed at him, still wearing those damn jeans! The cynic's expression was filled with confusion, which was quickly replaced, by betrayal and anger when he realized what Enjolras had been doing.

"You left your bag at the Musian." He offered flatly, stepping away from the paintings quickly, pulling his hands back as if they'd been burned.

Grantaire's jaw hung open in shock, "So you just decided to break into my house?!" He slurred as a tall blonde girl stumbled inside the apartment and draped herself across his shoulders. She pressed sloppy kisses to the side of the cynic's face and mumbled something into his ear as she eyed Enjolras.

"Is he joining us?" The girl had brilliant blue eyes that flashed with arousal despite being clouded through a haze of drunkenness.

Enjolras felt something twist in his stomach. Grantaire had taken this girl home to have sex with her, and he'd interrupted them by going through the cynic's paintings after breaking into his house to drop off his backpack. He could identify what had gripped him but it was rising up and constricting his chest, making it hard to breathe. "I'll just go then." Enjolras mumbled in shock and elbowed past the pair on his way to get out of the apartment. Grantaire yelled something to Enjolras but the blonde couldn't hear it over the sound of his converse crunching against the snow as he ran down the street.

-ooo-

"Combeferre!" Enjolras yelled, slamming the door to the Musain closed behind him. The guide looked up from his book and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "I believe I'm experiencing emotional distress!" The blonde slumped into the booth across from bespectacled man and buried his face in his hands. "I'm feeling things."

Combeferre sighed and closed his book, setting it lightly on the table. "What are you feeling?"

"Pain." Enjolras mumbled sadly. "My chest hurts and I'm angry. I also feel like crying, but that's stupid because it won't fix anything."

The guide lightly placed a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, "Do you know why you feel that way?"

"No, that’s why I came to you." His sweatshirt sleeves muffled Enjolras’s words because he refused to look up.

"Well, what happened?" Combeferre probed cautiously, rubbing circles into the other boy's shoulder.

"I went to Grantaire's and dropped off his bag and then he came in and he had this girl with him and I think they were going to have sex and it just hurts." Enjolras looked up at Combeferre, his eyes puffy and filled with confusion. "It hurts and I don't know why."

The guide was silent for a moment before nodding slowly, "I think what you're feeling is jealousy, Enjolras."

"What? Why would I be jealous?!" The blonde demanded in annoyance, sitting up to face the other man. Why would he be jealous? There was nothing to be jealous of...was there?

Courfeyrac made a noise of exasperation and marched over to their table, Jehan in toe, before Combeferre could reply. "Because you're in love with the man!" He slapped his hands down on the table before dropping into the seat next to the bespectacled man. "And have been for quite some time!"

"What!?" Enjolras snorted and shook his head, "Why would you think I'm love with Grantaire?"

"Because you're always talking about him and complaining about his 'wasted potential' and stuff like that. You never stop talking about the guy!" Jehan chuckled softly, sitting down next to Enjolras.

"And because you're always looking at his ass when he wears tight pants." Courfeyrac added with a wave of his hand, taking a sip of Combeferre's water.

Enjolras turned bright red when the center mentioned Grantaire's pants. He'd always tried to keep his staring to a minimum, but the drunk had a nice butt, and that was just a fact. "I-I don't start at his ass!"

Combeferre raised an eyebrow, "Actually you do. Constantly." Jehan nodded in agreement and Enjolras flushed an even brighter scarlet and rubbed the back of his neck

"So maybe I find him attractive. But can you honestly tell me he's not handsome? I'm just stating fact!" Enjolras reasoned, waving his hand seemingly at random to add emphasis.

Courfeyrac shook his head, "Honestly, I don't find Grantaire all that attractive. He's not exactly the picture of a classically handsome guy."

"What are you taking about?" Enjolras gaped, completely at a loss. "He's extremely attractive. I mean, his profile alone!"

Courfeyrac shot Jehan a look and laughed. "His nose looks like a ski slope!"

"Fuck you." The blonde scratched his arm idly, oblivious to his friends exchanging knowing looks as he defended the resident cynic. "And I still don't how that means I'm in love with him. I mean sure, he's intelligent, funny, and has well thought out arguments. But that doesn't mean I'm in love with him!"

Combeferre put his hands up in surrendered, "Okay, if you're so sure please tell us why you're currently experiencing such raging jealousy. I'm sure we're all interested." Jehan and Courfeyrac nodded in agreement, pretending to give up on the idea that Enjolras was pining after Grantaire.

"Thank you! I'm glad you're finally seeing reason." Enjolras smiled smugly and folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his char. "Just because I find him attractive and sometimes like to look at how the snow lands in his hair and gets stuck in his eyelashes does not mean I'm in love with him! That's just a ludicrous idea! I mean, it's not that weird that I occasionally think about shutting him up by kissing him or jerk off thinking about him. Why would you think-" Enjolras paused and he went deathly pale as realization flickered over his face. "Oh my god." He whispered, barley audible and in a much higher register than usual. "I'm in love with Grantaire." 

 


End file.
